APRIL 7 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
221 
<l\)t 
JOTTINGS AT KIRBY HOMESTEAD. 
COL. P. D. CURTIS. 
Cause of Lumps in Cows’ Bags. 
Unless cows are milked out clean when dry¬ 
ing them off, lumps may form in the teats and 
cause obstructions in the flow of milk. Neglect 
in getting all of the milk out of the udder aud 
teats is the cause more than any other of bad 
teats and stoppage in the flow of milk. Little 
chunks of caseins or eheesey substance are left 
in the passages, the water in the milk being 
absorbed. These chunks either stop the flow 
or produce a local irritation aud a hardening 
of the glands around them. The greatest care 
should be taken to squeeze out all of these 
lumps before they become embedded in the 
glands, when it is impossible to dislodge them. 
A cow cannot lie dried off in a hurry. It 
takes several weeks to get. them dry so that 
no more lumps will form in the teats or udder. 
In the last milkings the udder should bo squeez¬ 
ed and worked down from as high a point as 
possible 
BEFORE CALVING. 
Every cow should be put in a box-stall when 
the time of gestation is completed. They never 
calve, before this time, but usually over-run 
the period, nine mouths, from one to two 
weeks. The practice of leaving cows fastened 
in stanchions to have their calves is au unsafe 
and inhumune one. Language fails to express 
its cruelty, as the poor cow mother and young 
one must feel it. For a month at least before 
calving cows should lie fed linseed oil meal 
with other meal, perhaps cotton-seed meal 
would do as well, but I have no experience. 
It makes a great difference with them in re¬ 
gard to dropping the placenta and recovering 
from the prostrating effects of parturition. 
Cdws pool- in flesh, with thin, weak blood and 
all of the organs and tissues of the body im¬ 
poverished, can not be expected to undergo the 
loss of blood and the other depleting effects 
incident to giving birth to young without ex¬ 
haustion. This exhausted condition unfits 
them for producing milk, and being thus ex¬ 
hausted, nature very wisely endeavors to take 
care of itself—to restore all of its depleted 
functions—before it, will create an excess in 
anyone. What a foolish economy it is to 
starve a cow before calving, A cow should 
never be permitted to run down. It costs too 
much to build her up again, and this must 
always be done before site can be made profit¬ 
able. Ono cow, ivell fed, will return as much 
profit as two poorly fed. From one to two 
quarts of oil meal, according to the size of the 
cow, fed once a day—1 have said one month 
better two months—before she comes iu, will 
pay away beyond the notion of those who have 
not tried it. It is strengthening, aud at the 
same time, has the most healthful effect, as it 
is mucilaginous aud prepares the system for 
the work required. Fancy the difference 
between a cow thus strengthened aud pre¬ 
pared for giving birth to young aud one com¬ 
pelled to eke out its strength and preparation 
from the warm side of a straw-stack or iu a 
cold stable v\ ith only coarse fodder for food. 
No wonder, at this season of the year, farmers 
complain of ‘“horn ail,” "tail soak" and dllieul- 
ties in their cows calving. The best remedy is 
prevention, aud this desirable medicine is to 
lie found in the granary, and if not there, the 
miller will supply it, aud increased income 
will repay it. Which is the boat wisdom, to do 
this aud enrich the manure pile, or uot do it, 
aud buy phosphates i 
BEATING ANIMALS—A TUMOR. 
An ox is now suffering with a tumor on his 
face. It had been growing mouths without 
showing signs of softness. At last it appeared 
soft in one place, und being lanced, it dis¬ 
charged puss freely. This tumor dates from 
the use of the oxen by a brutal workman, who 
used to stand and order them around, and 
when they did uot understand his talk, he 
would fiy into a passion and beat them cruelly 
over their heads and eyes. One day he did 
tliis aud broke the wagon tongue, which he 
was made to j>ay for, and the next time he 
was discharged. Oxen are generally broken 
to follow, not to go ahead. This is u mistake 
unskilled drivers always make when they at¬ 
tempt to use them. The driver should go 
ahead aud the oxen will follow. In following 
they will follow the furrow. There ought to 
be a law whereby the owner of animals could 
punish with a lino brutal drivers when they 
abuse them, and take it out of their wages. 
OBJECTIONS TO EARLY CALVES. 
I like early calves, but I do not like the idea 
of cows being in milk so long before grass 
time; I had rather milk them later iu the Fall 
and the fore part of \V inter, when succulent 
food is more plentiful. It is very expensive to 
feed cows which come in in Winter, or in 
March, sufficient to keep up a good flow of 
milk. It is necessary to do this, or else they 
will dry up and when they do get to the grass 
they will not give a full rate of milk. Where 
the milk can bo well utilized in making butter 
it may pay to have cows come in in mid- 
Winter, but nnless this is the case it is far 
better to have the calves coma in April, or 
about two weeks before the cows go to grass. 
I have tried both plans and like the later 
coming in the best. There is more risk in 
cold weather and more food is required to 
ofcet the cold. When all nature is rejuvenat¬ 
ing itself seems to be the proper time for 
young ones to be born. 
t'itta unj. 
REFUSED AND REFUSING. 
Church was “ coming out.” The congrega¬ 
tion filed out solemnly, aud once without the 
door, lasped in sociability, and began to shake 
hands and make friendly inquiries in regard 
to each other’s health, and the absence of cer¬ 
tain members of the flock. 
One poison only did not pause. That was 
a gill, a rosy-cheeked lass of seventeen, who 
seemed for some reason, flushed and agitated. 
Slie hurried on until half way down a sweet 
green laue, where she seated herself under a 
great elm tree, and listened to the murmur¬ 
ing voices in the distance with something very 
like a tear iu her eye. 
“ He’ll surely come,” she said to herself. 
"Surely he’ll never go away without saying 
good-bye, though he has been so taken up 
with Mattie Burt of late. He must pass this 
way going home, and I know he’ll stop and 
speak.” 
Then she listened again, as though, through 
the still October air, she could distinguish 
Evan Ware’s voice amidst the others. 
He stood, a fine, handsome youug fellow of 
twenty, not yet too manly to blush, receiving 
parting wishes and injunctions from old ladies 
aud gentlemen, and hearty grips of the hand 
from the boys, aud smiles from the* girls, for 
everybody liked Evan Ware. 
Then came the final good-bying, and one or 
two motherly kisses, for Evan was to start at 
dawn; and away the boy went, not down the 
green lane where Lizzie Gale sat like “patience 
on a monument,” but aloug another path, 
down which tripped a figure in bright silk, 
with a coquettish lace bonnet and parasol, 
taking its way towards a rustic bridge that 
spanned a little rivulet. 
He overtook her just as the little feet rested 
on the bridge, and, quite out of breath, called 
her by name. 
"Miss Burt, please stop a minute. " 
(She paused, and turned with a laugh. 
“I couldn’t t.liiuk who it was. How do you 
do, Mr. Ware.” 
“I—I’m well enough, Miss Burt. Won’t 
you stop one minute here? You know I am 
going away to-morrow, a long—long voyage. 
I may never come back. Please stop. 1 want 
to say good-bye.” 
She paused then, aud leaned over the railing 
of the bridge, dipping the point of her parasol 
into the water. 
“I sail for China to-morrow,” he said. 
“Yes—you told me so. I hope you’ll like it.’’ 
“1 don’t expect to like it. I like home bet¬ 
ter than all the world.” 
“Dear me! what makes you go then?’ 
“You know why—at least, you might know. 
I’m an orphan. 1 have no money—no pros¬ 
pects. My old sailor unde thinks there is an 
opening for me in China—a chance to make 
my fortune. It is very kind of him to do what 
he is doing, and no one can tell how anxious I 
am to be rich,” 
"Everybody seems to be.” 
“Yes; not for the saint* reason.” 
“Why, what is your reason.” 
The answer cume with a sort of gasp—one 
word—“You.” 
"Me?” The girl laughed, aud tossed her head. 
“Yes; now it’s out I don’t know whether 
you care for me or not. Sometimes you seem 
to. and sometimes you don't. But I—like you 
—better than anybody iu the world—so much, 
that if you say I may hope a little bit to make 
you like me as much, I shall have au object to 
work for to make myself ri h—and great, per¬ 
haps; anti without that hope I shan't have 
any. There—it’s out. I’ve tried to say it a 
dozen times before, aud I couldn't go away, 
uot knowing.'” 
Ilo paused, aud the girl stared at him. 
"You meant that for an offer of your hand 
aud heart, I suppose?” she said. "If so. I’ll 
toll you what ; 1 consider it, coming from you 
to me, a piece of impudence.” 
“Miss Burt!” 
"I do. • Because I’ve taken a little notice of 
you, there is no reason 1 shall think of marry¬ 
ing you. I might take notice of anybody. 
Everybody knows where 1 stand aud you 
stand, and now you are going a common sailor, 
goodness knows where. If you want any bet¬ 
ter answer, I’ll tell you you might as well wish 
for the moon as for Simon Burt's daughter.” 
So, with her gay silk sweeping, and her par¬ 
asol fluttering, the rich farmer’s heiress sailed 
away, leaving her boy-lover the picture of 
despair and mortification. 
So absorbed was he in his own insulted af¬ 
fections, that he did not even notice a plainly- 
dressed little figure that, stole over the bridge 
ten minutes after, until some one said :— 
“Evan.” 
| [Then he turned.' 
It was Lizzie Gale, in her neat straw bonnet, 
and with her prayer-book and pocket-handker¬ 
chief in her hand. 
“You are going away to-morrow? Good¬ 
bye !” Ho took her proffered hand. 
“Good-bye, Lizzie.” 
“I hope you’ll have a pleasant voyage and 
succeed.” 
“Thank you; but everything goes wrong 
with me. I don’t suppose you’ll ever see me 
back again.’’ 
They shook bauds again. He made no at¬ 
tempt to detain her, and she walked away 
slowly aud quietly, and uever wiped off the 
little tear that ^ould trickle down her cheek, 
until she was sure that Evan on the bridge 
could not see her. 
(Concluded Next Week.) 
“HELP ME ACROSS, PAPA!” 
There was anguish in the faces of those who 
bent over the little white bed, for they knew 
that baby May was drifting away from them, 
going out alone into the dark voyage where so 
many have been wrested from loving hands, 
and as they tried in vain to keep her, or even 
to smooth with their kind solicitude her last 
brief sorrows, they, too, experienced in the 
bitter horn* of parting the pangs of death. The 
rings of golden hair lay damp and unstirred 
on her white forehead; the roses were turned 
to lilies on her cheeks; the lovely violet eyes 
saw them not, but were upturned and fixed; 
the breath on the pale lips came andweut, 
fluttered and seemed loth to leave its sweet 
prison. Oh. the awful, cruel strength of death, 
and the weakness, the helplessness of love. 
They who loved her better than life could n< t 
lift a haud to avert the destroyer; they could 
ouly watch aud wait until the end should 
come. Her merry, ringing laugh would never 
again gladden their hearts: her little feet 
would make no more music as they ran patter¬ 
ing to meet them. Baby May was dying, and 
all the house was darkened and hushed. 
Then it was u-s the shadows fell in denser 
waves about us, that she stirred ever so faint¬ 
ly, and our hearts gave a great tiouud as we 
thought: “She is better! She will live!” Yes, 
she knew us; her eyes moved from one face to 
the other with a dim, uncertain gaze. Oh, 
how good God was to give her hack! How we 
would praise and bless him all our lives. She 
lifted one dainty hand—cold—almost pulse¬ 
less, but better, better—we would have it so— 
and laid it on the rough, browned haud of the 
rugged man who sat nearest to her. His eye¬ 
lids were red with weeping, but now a smile 
lighted all his bronzed face like a rainbow as 
he felt the gentle pressure of his little daugh¬ 
ter’s hand—the mute, imploring touch, that 
meant a question. 
“What is it, darling?” he asked in broken 
tones of joy and thanksgiving. 
She could not speak; and so we raised her 
on the pretty lace pillow, and her wee white 
face shone in the twilight like a fair star, or a 
sweet wocxliand flowor. 
She lifted her heavy eyes to his—eyes that 
even then had the glory aud the promise of 
immortality in them, and reaching out her 
little wasted arms, said in her weary, flute-like 
voice: 
“ Help me across, papa!” 
Then she was gone. We held to our break¬ 
ing hearts the frail, beautiful shell, but she 
was far away, whither we might not follow. 
She had crossed the dark river, and uot alone. 
'• Over the river the boatman pale 
Carried another, the household pet. 
,L she crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands, 
And fearlessly entered the phantom baric; 
We felt It glide from the sliver sands. 
And all our sunshine grew strangely dark.'' 
Oh, Infinite Father! When we weary aud 
disappointed ones reach out pleading bamis to 
Thee, wilt Thou take us even as the little 
child, aud help us across over the mountains of 
defeat and the valleys of humiliation into the 
eternal rest of Thy presence, into the green 
pastures and beside the still waters, into the 
City of the New Jerusalem, whose builder aud 
maker is God ? a. m. b. 
Y oung ladies who fancy that there is any¬ 
thing degrading about housework make a great 
mistake. On the contrary, wo consider it ele¬ 
vating. A young woman can be just as much 
a lady with a broom in her hand as reclining 
languidly with book in hand in the drawing 
room. The truest, nobldst and best woman, 
we know has been trained from her girlhood 
to look, practically, to the ways of the house¬ 
hold, and yet she is a lady in every respect, an 
ornament to the most cultivated society. 
When you have homes of your own, young 
women, and are obliged to do with little or no 
help, you will be thankful for the training yon 
have imposed upon yourself in your yoiftb, or 
if it fall to your lot to have servants, yon will 
be glad that you can direct them; and should 
they leave you without any warning, as they 
are sometimes disposed to do, you will be 
“mistress of the situation,” able to take hold 
successfully until such time as relief may come. 
C. F. A. 
-- 
BOOKS RECEIVED. 
The Celestial Symbol Interpreted ; or, 
The Natural Wen lers and Spiritual Teachings 
of the Sun; TOO pages. By Rev. H. W. Mor¬ 
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many leading divines. 
Reading for Boys and Girls: an Essay. 
By Marie Jacque, Dayton, Ohio. 
Ox the Wing. Rambling notes of a trip 
to the Pacific. By Mary E. Blake. Lee 
Shepard, publishers, Boston, Mass. Price, $1. 
A demand from many quartet's led the 
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Water Analysis: A hand-book for water- 
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for Women 
CONDUCTED BY mss KAY CLARK. 
IN SIGHT OF LAND. 
Gently t Just bear me aloft In your arms, 
Messmates, to breathe the fresh air. 
'Tls hard I should die so close to the land, 
The land, with Its meadows so fair. 
I have prayed God to spare me, but he thinks it best 
I should finish life's Journey to-night. 
So, messmates, you know I must bow to to His will. 
And die, with the land Just In sight. 
I have ptetured the Joy of the “ old folk at home,” 
Of the greeting that's waiting for me. 
And mother's sweet face as her heart throbs with 
love 
At the thought of her boy coming back from the sea 
And dear 111 tie Bess, how she'll stand In the lane 
And shade her bright eyes with her hand. 
To watch for her brother—Oh, yes It Is hard 
To die Just In sight of the land. 
How father's rough brow, so furrowed with toll. 
Will light when his day's work Is o’er. 
As In fancy he clasps the dear hand of his son. 
His son- whom he’ll never see more. 
But messmates, Just teU them to meet me aloft. 
Where the shores are of sparkling sand. 
And tell tbetn I died contented and brave, 
Altho' 'twas In sight of the land. e. a. s. 
EXPERIENCE WITH LILACS. 
As I have seen and heard of so many lilac 
bushes which failed to produce flowers, or any 
reasonable quantity of them, and as mine for 
many years have been unusually abundant 
bloomers, I will gjve my experience with them 
for the benefit of those less successful. In the 
Spring of ISO71 received by mail two small lilac 
bushes of the purple variety, and planted them 
in very rich soil, whereon for several years 
previously had stood an old stable. In two 
years from that time they blossomed only a 
few bunches, aud every year since they have 
borne a profusion of fragrant flowers, w Inch 
have delighted my ueighbors as well as myself. 
I think it is better to clip the blossoms be¬ 
fore they form seed of these as well as of other 
shrubs aud plants, and from these tv; r bushes 
I have often cut bushels of their floral beauties 
to share with my friends, and yet so plentiful 
were they that they seemed scarcely missed 
from the boshes. They get uo pruning except 
at these times of late years, when often two 
feet or more of the brauches, laden with 
